Nothing
by livingforfomas
Summary: A songfic to Nothing by the Script. Draco leaves Harry. Can Harry change his mind, turn it all around? Or, will he have nothing?


_Nothing_

_An interpretation of Nothing by the Script_

_Rated T and a half because I have a potty mouth. _

* * *

><p><em>Nothing. <em>

Not a word reverberated through his alcohol infused state. His group of friends seemed to be speaking, or at least acknowledging him as he was still able to feel the physical contact of a slap to his back and a squeeze to his shoulder.

_A few drinks, _they said, _will help you to forget him. _

Highly unlikely considering Draco had only hours ago broken his heart into a million microscopic pieces.

_What's got me drunker? Love or liquor? _

Both were equally intoxicating at times.

With another shot of firewhiskey drained, he absolutely sided with the drink tonight. Anything else would make little to no sense if after the moment the liquid burned through the muscles of his throat he felt all too dizzy and mildly ill. Nothing caused this kind of physical numbness. Mental, absolutely. But, he'd lost all feeling in his lower half for the past fifteen minutes.

And heartache could do quite a bit, but not make one a paraplegic.

"D'you hear me, Mate?" Ron asked, his voice a broad shout over the music of their local pub. "You're better off now than you ever were with him."

Harry smiled listlessly and tapped the table for a refill. The tender shook his head at the gesture, but refilled the glass anyway. As long as Harry remained at ease, there was no need to refuse the order or the money.

"Guy's crazy," Seamus attempted to whisper to the party, his own intoxication affecting his ability to hear or judge his own volume.

_Crazy? Makes perfect sense to me. _

It'd only taken a month of seeing Draco again before Harry felt comfortable enough to admit to himself that he'd fallen hopelessly and helplessly in love with the former Slytherin. Of course, it would take another year of secret pining and torturously awkward teasing from Hermione before he could confess to the horrendous lie of simply _liking_ the, at the time, betrothed Auror.

One Ministry Christmas party changed _that _minor detail rather quickly as Draco found his fiancé in the midst of some incredibly private affair. The woman he'd been saved for since birth was pressed firmly against the wall of an abandoned hallway and her choice of partner, as Draco came to find equated to far more than this one man and this one instance, had forgotten to silence their encounter.

So, naturally, hearing his future wife _screaming _caused his own unease and he easily located the pair.

Not three minutes after the ordeal were they broken- neither in shock or any real sort of pain. For you see, Draco was gay and Astoria always knew. It wasn't much of a discovery, though. On several occasions, the witch caught the wizard calling out to a _man. _A _wizard. _A _famous _wizard.

_Harry Potter. _

And unlike the elusive brunet, Draco never believed in subtlety.

_One of the reasons he caught me to begin with, _Harry reflected, drowning himself again in a taller glass of something brown and thick- the fire in his throat intensifying.

Never did Harry believe he'd heard better news than the cancellation of the wedding. And he heard it from Draco himself. In his office. His _Head Auror's _office. After quitting time. _Long _after quitting time. Utterly alone, far after quitting time in the comfort of his most private quarters.

This was where he would _show _Draco how he felt. Perhaps enough time to blink passed after the blond's detailed explanation and blatant confession before Harry tackled him into the nearest wall and…

The Chosen One shook his head to rid himself of the memory.

_How could I be so fucking stupid? _

"Let's get out of here, Mate. You could use some sleep," Ron tried with a small smile, at least attempting to sympathize.

Rising to his feet, Harry drunkenly trudged towards the door of the pub, swaying into strangers and nearly taking Neville out with his left elbow as he turned to mumble an apology to someone he may have given a bloody nose to.

Stumbling past the railings and the fences on the path to Harry's flat, it seemed that each new step led him towards Draco's old place. For the absolute life of him, he could not change his direction.

_If I face his face, he'll come to his senses. I know it. _

"Potter, this isn't the way to your house. Or I'm too gone to remember."

Stopping at a black gate beneath a flickering lamp to rest, Harry glanced across the street to his Slytherin's home.

_I was stupid. I should have quit. _

Today would have been, still was, their third anniversary. And a week earlier, Draco found he was unable to cope with Harry's dedication to his work. As Head Auror, the Man Who Lived could not assign Draco as his partner _and _have some sort of relationship with him. They'd both lose their positions, something they'd fought years for. Something Draco always seemed to be fighting for in the eyes of anyone but Harry.

"Draco!" he suddenly screamed, stilling everyone passing on the street. "I still fucking _love you_, Draco! Please, it hurts!"

By that outburst, Harry was halfway across the street dividing the men from his ex.

Taking an arm each, Ron, Seamus and Neville failed terribly at calming the crazed man.

Easily, the Chosen One brushed them away and jerkily ran towards the heavy wooden, taking two steps at a time to the door and began to pound against it in earnest.

"I know I'm drunk, but you have to believe me, Draco! I love you. You know I'll quit if that's what you want. I _can't_ lose you."

With tears streaming down his face, he touched his forehead to the wood and clenched his fists in bitter rage and depressing fortitude. "Please, Draco?" Harry whispered- gulping back a sob he knew would tear through eardrums if he released it.

All he heard was _nothing. _

Draco said _nothing._

No answer. No words. _Nothing_.

Coming down from the steps, Harry's hands were shaking in the realization that no one was waiting for him here.

His mates seemed to be mouthing some sort of comfort, but the brunet couldn't hear them.

He couldn't hear anything.

He had _nothing_.

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

Song's been stuck in my head for weeks. It's been getting in the way of finishing my other stories and I certainly can't have that.

Happy Holidays.


End file.
